I don’t know you, but my soul do —
It flinched when you laughed, like déjà vu.
We haven’t met, but I miss your name,
Like a ghost line in a song’s sweet flame.
I pass by strangers, still half-aware
Of a voice I chase in the midnight air.
What spell is this? What did I do?
To know no name, but still know you.

A persistent air of weakness may flare up, when the hesitant tunnels of the blood vessels may be torn open by a careless heart attack; the blood clots as big as rocks would hear the cry for help, which the restless heart probes in vain. As if it had become increasingly difficult, more burdensome to break down the silence of the liveable, visceral Reality, which is inevitably present and surrounds you. Generous sadness also forces a person in an increasingly persistent state to no longer be permanently happy and satisfied, since happiness is not a permanently constant state of mind, - but rather a forced euphoric agitation. The beating heart may crumble into its own purple, in its own muscles, if it is unable to listen to the words of the law of the Universe in this earthly existence.

Every person's lonely island story seems to have been born subconsciously, and could only exist in the floating ocean of inner thoughts, because it has nothing to do with the actual massive Reality. Because the weight of feelings, touches, and moods has become colorless, which would still have significance if they had once been created and acted upon in giving. The fierce mass tumult of blood molecules is simultaneously burned or destroyed by attraction and repulsion, the inevitable, indestructible pulsation.

Every single hesitantly successful act or deed now seems to release the certain impossible from itself!

The time I saw you first,
I thought I’d found my world —
as if the universe itself had paused
to place a star within my reach.

Our eyes still meet each day — but not us.
You are the moon behind clouds —
always there, but never mine to touch.
I had no courage to speak —
and when I did, you had already become a memory.

We both are like the sun and the moon —
sharing the same sky, but never the same moment.
Two hearts circling, forever apart.

You laugh, you live, unaware of me,
While I drown in silent oceans of ‘what if.’
You were never mine — not even close,
But you became the song my heart repeats.

In every prayer, I ask for you,
But I think something is missing in that prayer —
like a candle trying to light the sun.

What did my heart see in you so true,
That it chose pain like a poet chooses ink —
writing love with wounds that never heal?

I only imagine how happy life would be
if fate had drawn our stars side by side.
But dreams are just glass —
and I keep bleeding from the pieces.

Still, I wait —
like a wilted flower waits for spring that never comes.
Till the day I take my last breath,
loving you quietly, like a shadow follows light.

Whenever we meet again —
in this world or another —
I will want to be yours.
Forever.

And I hope… when I close my eyes forever,
your face is the last sunset I see.

Now there are still different Columbuses, because the motto is not always: "Keep it quiet for the West!" - not everything is on the other side of the Pacific Ocean, but it is still enough for a more livable life, about twenty or thirty light years away. Because the deepening labyrinth-pits that we can dig ourselves, rent, have become more and more common; on the waves of stock market prices, the killer predatory leech-fish, the sharks are increasingly winning, even if they have to play Russian roulette with themselves, in this way they gamble a little.

And it is increasingly the case that it is no longer the noon bell that precisely signals the end of a given job - but the summit meetings that last up to thirty-six hours, meaningless business conferences, where foreign creditors must be honeyed and glazed, to convince them with ***-licking, why they should invest their money in us. Instead of flesh-and-blood people, they ask for a mechanized Pinocchio for a meeting.

And if we take it that way, even in the dating situation, it is increasingly embarrassing for the majority of divas who are plasticized as teenagers when some average little man keeps complimenting them and comes up with the laws of the Universe. Instead of Grimm's fairy tales, today's modern children stare at reality show news on their Tablets, because how could they have learned who the evil, ugly witch is and who the good house fairy is?! Thus deporting contemporary literary cultures.

- It is increasingly noticeable that vandals and Suleimans have become more ambitious and greedy, just like the deceitful demagogues who usurp each other's thrones at the carnival of the modern nuclear age. Banking truths are fierce its hooves are pounding on the necks of increasingly oppressed creditors.